


And I might be okay (But I'm not fine at all)

by lottiem



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Criminal lack of the other boys, F/M, Fame Issues, Hidden Feelings, M/M, New Year's Eve, Not really much Haylor at all, Taylor does not speak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lottiem/pseuds/lottiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d seen the looks exchanged behind their backs; from the boys, his family, from Steve in the recording studio, from countless strangers. And he always ignored them. But what he hated, absolutely fucking despised (more than the stares and the judgement <em>they had no right to give</em>), was that it made him into this person he couldn't even recognize. Made him into the sort of person who wanted to smash things, punch walls, cry and scream and <em>hurt</em> people. The sort who actually really really wanted to deck the women who yelled <em>hey, fags!</em> at them last month. Or sit her down and explain in very explicit detail why she was a horrible person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I might be okay (But I'm not fine at all)

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I would write any fanfiction about Harry/Taylor in a positive light and it probably shows in the fact that I could barely make her more than a faceless female. I purposely did not go into detail about her appearance/feelings. This fic is really more about Harry and his feelings (though not real feelings. nothing I write is real. this is fanFICTION). Thanks, and I hope you are not bored out of your mind! Title from the song "All too Well".

It’s strange and he knows- _just knows_ what that video is going to show.

He looks uncomfortable and unhappy and decidedly not what a guy kissing his new girlfriend on New Year’s Eve should look like.

Despite being comforted time and time again over the past two years that pictures, videos and interviews are only snapshots of their lives and that they never show as much as people want to speculate, it’s weird. Ironic, that with all the bullshit he’s been involved with it’s this that is going to look the most like a lie.

It’s hard to decide how he feels about him and Taylor, or more...how feels about him and Taylor and the PDA. She’s a sweet girl but her experience with celebrity relationships has been totally different than his, and she isn't interested in hiding. Which is what he wants, honestly, but he still doesn't feel any less out of depth or awkward with the whole public romance shtick. Because the only real romance he can claim to have had isn't something that was ever public.

Was ever going to be public at all really.

Which is why he is here in New York instead of back home in London.

And yet…it _was_ a romance. No, **the** romance; the big dramatic once-in-a-lifetime one complete with passionate kisses, unhealthy codependency and can'tkeepoureyesorhandsoffeachother sex… it even had that forbidden love trope going for it. But the screaming matches that ended with broken dishes and picture frames (and a Brit award on one memorable occasion) aren't really as fun to experience as they are to watch on television.

They get boring.

Like the hiding did.

Like knowing there was always a stab of white hot shame just for being that bit more honest with each other than with anyone else.

Like the jokes did long long ago.

And he _gets_ that people didn't understand, and to be fair it’s not like him or Louis really gave them the chance to. That's not even what bothered him the most. It’s just…he’s _not_ an angry person. And being with Louis made him into one.

He’d seen the looks exchanged behind their backs; from the boys, his family, from Steve in the recording studio, from countless strangers. And he always ignored them. But what he hated, absolutely fucking despised (more than the stares and the judgement _they had no right to give_ ), was that it made him into this person he couldn't even recognize. Made him into the sort of person who wanted to smash things, punch walls, cry and scream and _hurt_ people. The sort who actually really really wanted to deck the women who yelled _hey, fags!_ at them last month. Or sit her down and explain in very explicit detail why she was a horrible person.

  
So they stopped.

  
Because Harry didn't want to be so angry all the time. Because it wasn't even feeling like a relationship anymore when they couldn't even fucking leave their flat. When they stopped even _having_ a flat...

_"...They have separate houses now, didn't you know?"_

_"It was all over the Mail last Saturday and I heard Louis Tomlinson's even has a skating rink in the back garden for him and his girlfriend to skate on, isn't that darling?"_

And suddenly what they had whispered into each others shoulders late at night, that it **didn't matter-**

_“we’ll be together forever and who cares if we can’t go out for dinner? You’re a better cook anyway, I don’t need anything but you…”_

-well…it began to feel like less than nothing.

It just was too much effort, too much exhaustion and then they were circling each other awkwardly and it wasn't easy laughter and even easier love, not anymore.

And that was _okay_ because Harry finally felt like he could breathe again. Breathe in the cold New York air, much colder than any New Year’s Eve back in England. And though he wasn't surrounded by his friend or his family and their eyes (loving but constantly judging, judging, judging) he had her soft hand in his and it felt like enough.

He knew there were still stares but he couldn't (didn't have to) care, not when she was giggling and pulling him through the crowd. He felt like just one of the thousands of revelers gathered here to welcome in the new year. It was nice to feel so insignificant. He smiled, embraced a fan, looked up at the sky and turned back to Taylor. It was easy and normal and he was fucking _free._

When she jumped into his arms at the end of the countdown he knew he probably looked stiff but all he could think was _this is okay, I can kiss her in front of everyone and no one will care, I’m just another guy kissing his girlfriend on New Year’s Eve in Times Square. They can take pictures no one cares no one cares NO ONE CARES…_

He could do this, she even wanted him to do this-to just be happy and show them off to the entire world (because that was what would happen when the pictures hit the papers tomorrow). He drew back and kissed her again, quick little pecks on her lips, smiling into the last one and holding it a little bit longer before pulling away and rubbing her shoulder comfortingly.

The security gestured for them to make an escape before anyone made a fuss and he nodded back and started to lead them away. His mind felt at once like it would not stop turning and that it had entirely gone blank. He barely noticed the noise or faces or flashes of cameras surrounding them.

~~~~

Later, his mind even fuzzier from the champagne, he stared out from the balcony of the hotel room him and Taylor were sharing. He had left her fast asleep in the bed, golden hair spilling out over the pillow and mouth slightly open.

He numbly wondered how much he would have to eventually tell her about Louis.

Sometimes it didn't even feel like there _had_ been a him and Louis.

They had slipped back into their roles so easily, joking around and smiling and it hurt more than he thought how _okay_ they could be. Him and Louis as a “them” almost felt like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare if he was feeling particularly angsty. It’s not like they had any pictures revealing anything but friendship. They didn't have notes or emails and the texts had long been deleted. There weren't many conversations with others he could think over, sober ones at least.

The drunk ones had the same hazy film covering them that all his memories of harryandlouis had had anyway.

It really had been as simple as _stopping_. Had there ever even been anything to hide? The idea makes him feel ill.

They had been so locked in their own little world, hadn't they? By the end they didn't even leave marks on each other anymore. Nothing to hide, nothing to forget, nothing to actually have any thoughts on at all. Certainly nothing to bother with words over.

It didn't even feel like lying to Taylor. He felt like the person he was with her was so separate from the person he had been with Louis, it would feel all wrong to try and bridge that gap.

He knew that’s what Louis had told himself about Eleanor.

It sometimes, in the vaguest way possible, scared him the degree neither of them had felt guilty about that. How readily he had just ignored her and Louis simply denied any and all rumors.

In the end....well, in the end it didn't seem like they had been lying to anyone but themselves.

“ **Fuck**.”

He gripped the steel rail tightly, his hands red from the cold. He needed to stop thinking about this. He felt too small, closed in, with all these thoughts and memories swirling around in his head. The alcohol was jogging loose crap he needed to just be _done_ with.

He leaned forward, bent at the waist, and rested his forehead on top of his clenched hands. Looking downwards he huffed out a sigh.

It frightens him how delicate he still feels about everything, like he's getting over a long term illness. Because he’s genuinely happy with Taylor, and it’s exciting to do all these couple things with no duplicity. He just wants it to continue and he doesn't _want_ to be thinking about Louis and Louis’ laughter and his lips and they way his eyelashes fluttered. Most of all he doesn't want to think about how it all turned to shit.

He doesn't want to be stuck in the past, because Louis is in the past.

And he doesn't want Louis, or he doesn't want what he has to offer. Not anymore.

~~~~

...and he knows it's not all on Louis-he can't, won't, do that to him, not even in his own mind. Harry knows how he can be, but he also knows how _they_ are (were) better and they both knew when it was time to let go. Or attempt to at the very least. 

~~~~

The sun was starting to rise and he could see the pink-orange reflection in the windows of the building opposite. He knew that their minders would be knocking soon and telling them the car was ready. He'd let Taylor sleep for the extra few minutes.

He shook his hair and swept it into shape, before closing his eyes briefly and simply standing still for a moment. That was all he would give himself.

One moment.

And then he had to finish packing. Him and Taylor have to get to Utah by two o'clock.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to tear this to shreds. I honestly will not be insulted. I know that for me personally if I hate the fic I just stop reading rather than leave a potentially insulting comment. However, this time I am ASKING for any and all feedback. I am genuinely interested and will likely leave a long and detailed reply no matter what you say. 
> 
> Examples of the variety of critique I am down with:
> 
> "Your writing is really pretentious"
> 
> "You overuse the words 'just', 'even' and 'actually'"
> 
> "Your use of italics is abysmal"
> 
> "You messed up grammar here, here and here"
> 
> "This *blank* made no sense. Grow a brain."


End file.
